


A Long Way From Home

by BDBeeb



Category: Original Work, Original characters - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Pain, Rape, Smut, Torture, Violence, War, dubcon, noncon, unwanted surgery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:39:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4548873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BDBeeb/pseuds/BDBeeb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was brave.  A warrior.  A general.  And then he was captured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Capture and Imprisonment

**Author's Note:**

> The sex is in chapter 3.

The war party came late at night, as the sentries stood and the soldiers slept. They killed the sentries quickly, silently. The general woke in the silence, awakened by the silence. He reached for his sword and was struck in the head. Captured. Captured in an attack with no honor.

The next time he awoke there was a constant screaming, ceaseless and shrill. He struggled to gather himself, to stand, but the floor would not be still. Constant motion.

The thing he noticed most was the smell. He had been down in the pits of hellish war, filled with the blood and bowels of men and their rotting flesh, and yet he had never before smelled anything so noxious or fetid. He could hardly stand to breath without retching. He gathered his wits and felt his head; the entire left half of his face was tender and seemed swollen. Dried blood covered his head and shoulders. He hissed as his fingers discovered the source of the blood: a large gash hidden under his hair, still wet.

He didn't know how long he'd been there. He had slept twice, and his eyes were adjusted to the dim. He had seen neither food or water since he'd been captured. Captured. He'd been a damn fool, captured in his sleep. He hoped that his wife thought he had died in battle, a hero's death. That would be some consolation at least. At least his son would grow up hearing tales of his brave father. His son. He was not going to see the boy again, he was sure of it. His wife too. He would never be able to spend another night with her. He leaned against the cold stone and tilted his head back. Maybe he would die of pneumonia before he starved.

He slept four more times before the door opened. He was blinded by the low light streaming in. A withered husk of a man laid where the general had once been. Bones jutted out, struggling to break through skin. He did not struggle as two guards drug him down the corridor. He lacked the strength to care, or to even listen to them with any intent. 

“I told ye' we left him in there too long – fucking gladiator he'll make now, a fucking kid could kill 'im.”

“Moron. She wanted him anyways. Called 'im soon's we broughts 'em in. Alls we's gots to do is cut 'im now.”

The man, this once great general, fought the haze that engulfed him, his instincts sensed an immediate crisis. His hands were bound now, linked together by chain and cuffs, his feet as well. The edges of his vision were black; he could see only what lay directly before him. When he lifted his head , he saw the knives on the table and knew. He used the chain that bound him, and a strength that came from deep within him, a beastly strength – savage and deadly. These men, these pigs would die with him. He took down seven all together. The pigs didn't realize when he broke the first two necks. He broke the next neck and then they came for him. He managed to kill another; his chain around the pig's neck. He maimed three others before he was taken down. Two would never walk again, the other could do nothing with his body and was killed later by his own men out of pity. Pity or disgust. And still he fought. This man, this general. He fought until they dislocated both shoulders. When he could no longer fight with his arms he kicked and bit like a wild animal; he tore chunks of flesh from arms and faces. His fierceness was no match for the horde of brutes that converged on him. He was lashed to the table, with ropes over his chest and stomach, hands tied above his head, legs tied apart. His body was immobile, he could only lift his head. He saw them come with the knife. He had fought them, and so he could face his end in peace. Let the darkness come, he thought.

But then he felt it. He felt the tugging on his testicles as they were tied off. He realized that they had no intention of killing him, they would castrate him, and make him half a man. He thrashed against his bindings. The tourniquet was meant to reduce bleeding before the would was cauterized; it did nothing to reduce pain. He felt it all. He struggled so the pigs might make a mistake and nick an artery, something, anything that would kill him. He was prepared to die, he was not prepared to become less than a man. 

And then there was nothing.


	2. Loss and Grief

He stirred from his sleep and, for a moment, everything was forgotten. He was in a bed, a soft bed, in a well lit room. He tried to sit up, and the shooting pain brought unwanted memories racing back. Suddenly he glistened in a cold sweat. He reached down, not yet daring or able to look. Tenderly he felt himself. His hand grasped his penis: intact. A sweet rush of relief hit him. It could all have been a cruel prank, a test from the gods. Then his fingers felt the stitches, and when they found no testicles he fainted.


	3. Rape and Imprisonment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later...

The mighty general walked down a corridor and carried a tray full of half-eaten delicacies, a brat's scraps. He was still a fine specimen of a man, but more haughty, more rugged in the face. With dark circles under his empty eyes. This was a man who had given up all thought, and was beyond all caring. 

His destination was the kitchen, but he was stopped in the servant's dining hall by a group of ruffians: the sheriff's foot soldiers, the ones who were too brutal or crazed for the king's infantry. A few grabbed the tray and quickly devoured the leftover food while the rest circled him like hyenas around a wounded lion. 

They had him bent over a table without a struggle. He didn't care, he wanted to die. But he had made a promise in a past life, to a past love, that he would never die by his own hand. And he would keep that promise, it was the only thing he had left to give to her. 

He felt a strange contentment about the prospect of death, so he waited for the pain that would lead to that endless abyss. When he felt the tug on his trousers he realized death would not come swiftly enough, so he spun round but only managed to break a nose and one arm before they had him pinned again. It was cruel, this trick that fate had played on him. He dug his teeth into his forearm to bite back his screams as they entered him. Brutally, mercilessly they entered him. He shed no tears but exuded rage. By the time they had all had their way, his legs were useless. When the last pig finished the general slumped to the floor, unable to stand. Or maybe unwilling.

All the pigs left the dining hall then, taunting and jeering, bored with their used toy. He sat there with blood running down his thighs, without even the strength to pull up his pants. He used to be a man, he thought to himself. What was he now? It was then that he decided: one day he would kill them all. 

He sat there, he didn't know how long. The sun had set. He stared at nothing. A chamber maid finally wandered through. One who was brazen enough to help him, this injured pariah. He couldn't look at her face, couldn't bear to see how she pitied him. She cleaned him up and sent him on his way. She could do nothing about his new and telling limp. The hallway was long and filled with whispers, darting eyes in the firelight. He barely noticed. He stood in front of the door to the room everyone did their very damnedest to avoid. The room at the end of the hall. He knocked twice and waited as he was trained to do. He heard shuffling and footsteps and he braced himself. He opened the door and was met with an iron blow, square in the face, end hot from the fire. 

“Get in here.”

The blow had sent him to his knees. Without the strength to get up again he crawled forward. He got a hard kick in the stomach then, and another. So many he collapsed and rolled onto his back. He stared up at a woman illuminated in the firelight, fiercely beautiful, with cruel eyes that glowed with a fiendish delight.

“Stand up.”

He obeyed, slowly, with great pains and no sound. 

“Do you know how long I've been waiting, Boy?”

A slap to the face.

“Speak, Boy.”

“I'm sorry, My Lady, there was a – a delay in the dining hall.”

Another slap caught his ear and started it ringing.

“I don't need your excuses.”

“Yes My Lady,” a crack in his voice, quickly covered.

“Take off your shirt. Go stand over there.”

He obey and turns his back to her, accustomed to the ritual of the night. The firelight dances over lash marks, some long scarred, others still pink and fresh. 

“No. Turn around, Boy. You need to look at this.”

He obliges, and a contraction of pupils is the only thing to betray his fear. But it was enough. The monster saw it, devoured it, and reveled in it. 

“Now turn around.”

He hung his head in his utter desolation. His hopelessness. He knew it would hurt. He could handle it.  
When the first lash bit into his skin he yelled, a shriek of unimaginable pain.  
A guard bounded into the room and froze, taking in the bizarre scene. The bleeding man on the floor, the princess holding a metal-tipped flail with pieces of flesh in the hooks. Her look of sheer rage at being interrupted. The man's pleading gaze, begging. The guard had never seen anything so pitiful. Or frightening. 

“Get out.”  
A moment's pause.

“Out!”

The guard fled, with a nightmare burned into his mind forever.

He was writhing on the floor by the time she was finished. He didn't know how many blows she had landed, too many. Too much. He couldn't hear her command him to sit in the chair. He could no longer feel her kicks. He could barely breath.

“Guard!”  
The same frightened guard rushed in, only looked at his feet.

“Put him in that chair.”  
It was only then that the guard looked up and saw the tortured man, with no more skin on his back, the muscle abused. Blood-soaked floorboards. The guard struggled not to retch, and obeyed.

“No. Not that chair, the other one.”

When his flayed back hit the chair he wailed.

“Now leave.”

The monster had him tied to the chair in no time at all. Noose around his neck and pants cut away.

When he emerged from shock the fingers of dawn were stretching through the window and there was nowhere that he did not ache.  
“Oh, finally awake I see. You know boy I heard something very interesting. I heard that you like to get fucked.”  
His heart dropped. “Please don't.”

“I heard you took forty men. Very impressive.”

“I didn't want it.”  
He was crying now, the first tears in a decade. Reduced to begging the cruelest monster he had ever known.  
“Please no.”

“No? No what?”

“Please don't make me do this.”  
“Oh there, there.” She chided him as she violently grabbed a handful of his hair.

"I have a wife."   
She laughed, genuinely amused. 

“I only want to know if you can still get it up.”

“I can't. I'm a eunuch.” At least he hoped he couldn't. 

“Well I know that, Boy. Truth be told I wanted you whole, but they always are worrying about keeping my virtue intact. Isn't that sweet?”  
As she spoke her hand found her way to his crotch. She grabbed him and began to tug.

“Oh please..”  
His breath came in gasps, untouched for so long. He forgot what he was asking for. 

“I knew you would like this, Boy.”

“Please stop this, 'm begging you.”  
A moment's hesitation, then the monster twisted her hand, eliciting yet another wail from the wasted general.

“Why?” she snarled.

“ – marr – married.... have a wife, please.”  
His pitiful pleading pleased her in ways she couldn't explain. She dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth.

“Well what do you know? You can get it up.”  
His tears were free-flowing now. He had lost all pride. His body had betrayed him. He had betrayed his wife. 

He knew the monster would not kill him now that she had discovered his new trick. She straddled him in the chair and penetrated herself with his member. His head threw back and he moaned, mouth agape. He just wanted a respite from the pain, now that he was damned anyhow. This was a port in his nightmare of a storm.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing on here. Not quite sure what I'm doing.


End file.
